Merry, Magical
by Jinxgirl
Summary: When Rachel Berry inadvertently destroys Santana's belief in Santa Claus, Brittany attempts to show her the truth of Christmas magic. Kid fic, semi companion to Who you are is not where you've been (you're still an innocent).


Author notes: Takes place about 2000, when the Glee kids are mostly in kindergarten. Companion piece to Who you are is not who you've been (you're still an innocent).

It wasn't unusual for Santana Lopez to find it difficult to sit still in school. Although she knew that as a first grader, she was supposed to be much more grown up than the kindergarteners, and she knew she WAS- after all, she didn't hide in the corner sucking her thumb and crying all the time like that Asian Tina little girl did, and she didn't have to have her mami come in and help her do stuff like that little boy in the wheelchair with glasses did. She was way, way more grown up than all of those silly little babies and all the kids in her class too. Why else would her papi have bought her a purse AND lip gloss last year even though Santana didn't even want to use it because it made her want to eat her own lips and the purse got in the way of running and climbing trees and chasing boys (even if it was very useful for whacking them with)?

The problem was that the grown ups thought that just because you were almost all the way grown up when you were six, you were supposed to want to be good all the time and sit down and sit still and do all the boring work that they wanted you to. But even though Santana guessed she could do that, if she really wanted to, most of the time she just didn't. Sometimes she tried to be good, but it seemed like every time she was trying really, really hard, her best friend in the whole wide world, Brittany, would do something funny to make her laugh, or Noah Puckerman would pull her hair and poke her in the back and make her mad, or Finn Hudson would do something so dumb she couldn't even help but make fun of him, and she would get in trouble all over again. So most of the time, to Santana, it just didn't even seem worth it to try.

And when it was only two days until Christmas break from school and she could go home and spend more time with her mami and get all her presents when Santa Claus came? Well, there was obviously not any chance at all that for the next two days, Santana was going to feel like sitting still, doing her work, and making any effort to be good.

It seemed that her teacher had long ago tried, earlier this week, to expect this of the children anymore, and she had in fact ended her lesson today early and given the children instead a task to make Christmas drawings, cards, and decorations. Santana had slapped her own drawing together with great haste and little interest, completely ignoring Rachel Berry's impassioned protest to their teacher that as a Jewish member of the classroom, although her daddy was indeed Christian and she respected the traditional Christian holiday of Christmas, she certainly felt that she should equally represent her Jewish heritage by also creating Jewish related art, and shouldn't their classroom's décor and assignments also reflect Rachel's diversity?

Or something like that. Santana never listened when Rachel Berry started throwing around big words like that which were totally boring; actually, the only time she listened to Rachel Berry was when the other little girl was doing something so dumb that Santana just had to make fun of her. That was something that happened a lot too.

Having finished her drawing of reindeer- which consisted of several fast drawings of stick-like brown figures with red circles at their noses- Santana wiggled and squirmed in her seat, leaning over to inspect Brittany's artwork. Instead of rapidly scribbling down the first thing that came to mind, anxious to have it over with as fast as possible, Brittany was taking her time to make her own creation, her brow furrowed slightly, her tongue sticking out between her teeth with her concentration as she carefully outlined and colored in her own rendition of a Santa Claus. Brittany was a good artist, and she was REALLY good with crayons. She liked using them more than paint or clay or anything else that was way messier and to Santana, therefore way more fun, and Santana leaned her elbow on her shoulder, watching her with squirmy interest.

"That's good, Brittany. That's really good. You draw so good, how come I can't draw that good? Can you draw me a Santa too?"

"Sure, Sanny," Brittany smiled, and she carefully began to draw another Santa next to the first.

Still frequently squirming and wiggling in her seat, unable to contain her restless excitement, Santana beamed, dimples flickering into view as she saw the figure take shape on the page. When Brittany drew the Santas holding hands, Santana giggled, finding this very funny, though she couldn't have explained why. And when Brittany carefully labeled the Santas, in two inch, badly wobbling, and often backwards or upside down letters "Brittany Claus and Santana Claus," Santana broke out laughing with delight.

"You made the Santas US! Santa isn't a GIRL!"

"He might be," Brittany said seriously, giving Santana a wide smile and nod. "Even if he does have beards. His jacket might hide his boobies. It could be a clever trick."

Santana laughed loudly again at this, delighted at the possibility. This was one of the many things the loved about Brittany, that the other little girl saw things in such a different, creative, and completely endearing way than everyone else. She wrapped her arms around Brittany and snuggled her head down against the other girl's shoulder, still giggling lightly as she looked down at the drawing.

"I never saw a man wear shiny red clothes before. Maybe you're right!"

"I wanna be Santa Claus when I grow up," Brittany said seriously, smiling back at Santana and affectionately stroking the other child's hair with the hand not clutching her crayon. "It would be a very good job. We can make all the children happy giving them toys, we can have pet polar bears, and we can tell all the elves what to do. Plus we would get cookies all the time, and we can always make snow angels and snow men whenever we want."

Santana squeezed Brittany excitedly at this thought, it having never occurred to her before as a possibility. She nodded enthusiastically, her voice getting faster with her anticipation of this new and glorious future plan.

"Yes! I wanna make all the elves make me all kinds of toys. And I wanna give coal to all the kids who are stupid! And I wanna pet the reindeer and fly them all around even when it's not Christmas yet!"

"And we can go all over the world whenever we want," Brittany reminded her, nodding. "And we can probably have a pet unicorn too."

Then she frowned, concerned. "Do you think it's too cold for unicorns in the North Pole?"

"We can keep them inside," Santana assured her. She was beaming, her dark eyes bright with anticipation as she continued to think through this new dream. "We can do whatever we want if we're gonna be Santa Claus. We'll be magic. We can probably even fly, and we can go down everyone's chimneys and not even get dirty, and we can-"

"No you can't, Santana," came an all too earnest and reasonable voice from their left, and even before Santana turned her head to look at her, she was already tensing up against Brittany, her back teeth grinding in irritation at the this intrusion in her moments of glory. "Of course you can't do any of those things."

It was Rachel Berry making those comments, Rachel Berry who seemed to think that her input was welcome. Turning her head to glare at her fiercely, Santana countered, "I can too! I can and I'm gonna and you aren't, just me and Brittany. So there! And when we're Santas, Rachel Berry, you aren't gonna get ANY toys from us. We're just gonna give you CLOTHES."

To Santana, this was the worst of all possible Christmas gifts to receive. Even as she looked Rachel over pointedly, taking in her long plaid kneesocks, her loose green dress, with a Scottish terrier on the front, and her little green matching beret, she giggled, seeing the irony in her choice of punishment for the other little girl.

"You better hope Santa Claus does too 'cause your clothes are dumb."

"Yeah," added Brittany, nodding emphatically from beside Santana. Although she herself rarely was rude to other children, she would sometimes back Santana up in her efforts, and with Rachel sneering at their decision to be Santa Clauses when they grew up, it seemed that she had decided that this particular occasion called for a little meanness towards her. She frowned at Rachel, tightening her grip around Santana's shoulders as the other little girl continued to address them seriously, not seeming bothered at all by their standoffish demeanors towards her.

"Of course Santa Claus won't give me anything, even clothing, but my fathers certainly will. They do every year and I'm sure they will this year as well."

But Brittany looked horrified by this revelation, her blue eyes growing wide, and she looked at Santana with something bordering on awe and fear. Santana herself was taken aback, her dark eyebrows raising almost to her forehead as she blurted out what Brittany seemed to be thinking.

"Why?! Are you THAT bad?!"

If Rachel Berry, who was such a teacher's pet and rule-follower in the classroom, was bad enough that Santa wouldn't give her any presents, then how did Santana herself have any hope?

Santana began to worriedly think through all the various misdeeds she had gotten herself into over the past year. Just how many of them did Santa know about? Was he always watching or did he only pop in sometimes to check? Did he communicate with God, who her abuela said was ALWAYS watching? What if he and God talked and God decided she was too bad of a little girl to get any presents?

For a moment her heart beat fast, anxiety bringing her close to tears, but then a new thought struck her, and she breathed a sigh of relief, reaching for Brittany's hand and squeezing it reassuringly before she addressed Rachel with renewed confidence.

"I got it! Santa doesn't give YOU presents 'cause you don't believe in Jesus! And you can't be Santa when you grow up because of that! So ha, you're wrong, we can too be Santa and we're gonna get lots of good presents and you won't!"

"But you're very wrong, Santana," Rachel insisted, taking a step closer to the other girl, her eyes wide with her over-sincerity. She was invading Santana's personal space now, and only the fact that one of Santana's arms was around Brittany's shoulders and her hand was in Brittany's with her other arm kept her from instinctively reaching out to push her hard in the chest. "I'm not bad at all. My conduct is impeccable both at school and at home and in temple as well. If I were to be judged by my behavior in order to determine whether I would receive gifts I would certainly qualify. But that isn't how it works so in the end it doesn't actually matter how one behaves so far as gift receiving is determined. And my religious beliefs have nothing to do with my lack of belief in the myth of Santa Claus, one can have differing religious beliefs and still mistakenly believe in the reality of Santa Claus. However I am simply more accurately informed than most children our age and I understand that the story of Santa Claus is simply untrue."

Santana exchanged a puzzled glance with Brittany, then a suspicious one towards Rachel, untangling finally from Brittany to turn towards Rachel, arms crossed over her chest, chin lifted defiantly.

"What's not true?"

"Well, all of it, of course. Certainly all the plans that you and Brittany believe to be possible," Rachel shrugged, beginning to enumerate them, and going so far as to tick them off on her fingers. "The North Pole is largely unlivable, I do suppose one could if one were properly prepared for the weather but you don't appear as though you would enjoy it, especially because you always become agitated when you think it's too cold at recess to use the slide or swing set because the cold steel hurts your hands. Unicorns do not exist-"

"Yes they do!" Brittany blurted, her eyes round with astonishment that someone would say otherwise. "And you better not say that too loud 'cause some people say they're like fairies, and every time someone doesn't believe another one dies! That's why they're such a rare species," she says to Santana in an explanatory undertone as Santana nods seriously.

Rachel shook her head, continuing on even as her two listeners continued to buck her words.

"They do not exist, not even as an extinct species, and polar bears and penguins are from differing regions. As are reindeer, I believe, and certainly reindeer don't fly. There are also no such thing as elves, although some people are referred to as dwarfs they are actually people with genetic disorders of some kind. Also Santa Claus was a man, not a woman. At least the original concept and the historical figure of which the myth was based upon was a man. However, even if he were truly a woman in his basis you still couldn't be her when you grew up because the story is simply that, a story. There never was a true Santa as we hear of today."

Half of what Rachel had just explained to her had sailed over Santana's head, much too complex and convoluted for her to even try to grasp. But she did get the gist of what the other child was telling her, and it was enough for her to point a scandalized finger at her, accusing, and respond to her heatedly.

"It is not! You're just being dumb! I don't ever listen to YOU, Rachel Berry, you only know stupid stuff that no one cares about! You don't know anything about Santa Claus!"

"I do so. I know that the story of Santa Claus is based upon the Saint Nicholas long ago, who would bring children toys, though not to the extravagant excess as is done by families now. The story became a legend continued to this day and perpetuated by the parents and guardians of children in modern times. Although now of course Christmas has become very commercialized and the image and myth of Santa makes considerable money and I do believe that is part of the reason that childhood belief and parent endorsement of Santa Claus has not yet faded along with other ancient traditions. Santa Claus is very much not real though, I assure you. It is all simply a story dating back from centuries ago."

"No it isn't," Brittany repeated, and Santana's anger rose when she saw that the other girl's lip was sticking out, that her eyes were sad and anxious, her voice soft when she spoke. "Santa's real, I know it. He's really really real. Isn't he, Santana?"

"Yes, he is! You're just dumb, Rachel, and you're wrong! Santa's gonna give you a whole bunch of coal and I'm gonna take it and rub it all over that big nose of yours!" Santana threatened, slipping a protective arm around Brittany again and scowling in Rachel's direction.

But even so Rachel still seemed rather unbothered. In fact, she started to get something of an attitude herself, drawing herself up to her full, if unimpressive height and jutting out her chin defensively.

"Just how would you manage that, Santana, if I was the one receiving coal rather than yourself? Which I will not be, because my parents will get me many nice things just as I am sure yours will. If you really believe in what you are saying and you think I am such a liar, then maybe you should simply look in your parents' bedroom closet or under their bed or in the trunk of their car, and you will see. There will be presents there, presents for you, and your parents will have them, not Santa. Your parents are the ones who give you gifts. If you don't believe me, just go see for yourself."

"Liar! Liar, liar, pants on fire, Rachel Berry is a liarrrr with fire pants! There is fire coming out her butt, better watch out, she's gonna burnnnn!"

Santana collapsed in giggles, pleased when Brittany laughed too. Soon other children who had overheard were also laughing at Rachel and pointing at her backside, as though seeing imaginary flames. Rachel backed away from the girls at last, seeming to finally get the message that she was unwanted, and Santana giggled even harder when she saw that the girl was casting a concerned glance at her backside.

"It's okay, Britt," she assured the other little girl, whose eyebrows were still slightly furrowed from Rachel's words. "That girl is just dumb, she doesn't know what she's talking about. We know the truth about Santa."

But as the day wore on, Rachel's words to them wouldn't quite leave her head, and eventually Santana found herself wondering…what if she were right?

88

When Santana came to school the next day, it was obvious that something had drastically changed in her demeanor. She almost stomped through the front door, small fists knotted at her sides, her dark curly hair bouncing wildly off her back and shoulders as she scanned the classroom, seeming to be looking for somebody or something. When Brittany smiled and waved her at, grinning her gap-toothed smile, Santana actually ignored her, not even softening her scowl for her best friend.

Rachel Berry, however, could not seem to recognize the warning signs that this particular morning might be a good one to stay away from the other little girl, and she bounded over to her with her usual oblivious smile, looking at Santana with wide-eyed curiosity.

"Did you look for the presents, Santana? You seem upset this morning, is that because you found them and you realize now that I was correct?"

Santana didn't even hesitate. One knotted fist opened up, and she slapped Rachel hard across the face, yelling wordlessly as she did so. As Rachel reeled back, giving a pained and startled shriek, and started to whimper, working up to tears, Santana ran across the classroom to the art area, where the children's Christmas artwork from the day before was now hanging on the wall. With another angry cry, she started to tear the pictures from the walls, ripping them and stomping on them. By the time their teacher had reached her and seized hold of her, pulling her away from the drawings and raising her voice to scold her sharply, the majority of the classroom were gathered around either Santana or Rachel, and a few of the children who's drawings had been destroyed were crying.

As their teacher hauled Santana to time out, instructing her sternly to stay put for a minimum of ten minutes, Santana yelled and shrieked for a few minutes, hitting the wall in front of her and kicking her heels into the floor. Several Spanish curse words and more than a few insults towards Rachel Berry and most of all, Santa Claus were thrown in there, and as the teacher tended to Rachel and then began to settle the other children into an activity, Santana's tantrum finally began to run its course as her flailing became much more feeble and sporadic. Finally she looked up, panting, to see that Brittany was standing near her, watching, her eyes sad and sympathetic, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

Seeing her best friend looking at her this way, Santana's sulking quickly began to shift to shame as she remembered with sudden guilt that she had destroyed Brittany's picture too somewhere in the midst of her frenzy, the one that had been meant to portray the two of them. Her lower lip quivered, and she began to cry more softly, turning so that she was hiding her face between the back of her chair and the crook of the arm and Brittany couldn't look her in the eyes. She didn't apologize; Santana was not a child who could easily bring apologies to words without feeling that she had somehow lost out, even with her very best friend. Instead the words that emerged were choked and thick with her tears.

"I hate Rachel…I hate that stupid fake Santa Claus. I hate Christmas. I hate it."

Brittany didn't try to convince her otherwise. She just reached out and began to stroke her hand over Santana's bowed head, running her fingers through her hair, her other hand rubbing over Santana's back and arm. When Santana continued to cry, slightly more loudly in spite of Brittany's soothing efforts of touch, Brittany started to whisper to her gently, still rubbing her back and head.

"Shhh it's okay, Sanny. It's okay, don't cry."

"I l-looked in Mami and Papi's c-closet," Santana wept, her words small, crushed, and utterly devastated in tone. "I l-looked and it was all…it was all presents…Rachel is right. Rachel is right and I hate her. I hate that dumb fake Santa Claus…I hate him…I hate him and I hate Christmas…I hate it…"

For another minute or two she sobbed into her arm as Brittany continued to pat and stroke her, whispering soft, soothing words in her ear. As Santana began to wind down again, lifting her face and wiping at her cheeks with knotted fists, Brittany put her arms around her, snuggling in close to her as she could manage as she whispered in her ear.

"It's okay, Sanny. Did you know that some grown-ups are sad like Rachel and they don't' believe? I bet your Mami and Papi are like that. Because everyone knows, Santa is only real for people who really, truly believe. Otherwise he's invisible like fairies. Or leprechauns. Or unicorns…or Michael Jackson."

"Who?" Santana frowns, confused, but Brittany doesn't explain, nuzzling her cheek against the other child's.

"Don't worry…all I'll do, is I'll tell my daddy that I want to see Santa Claus early tonight. My daddy really believes too, and he is good friends with Santa. He told me that he has his address but Santa usually wont' come see children in person because if it got out he could, so many kids would want to see him he'd be like a rock star, and Santa really likes to have a quiet life. But I bet if I tell my daddy you just really, really need to see Santa, he'll come."

Santana sniffled, wiping at her face again, and lifted her head to look Brittany doubtfully in the eyes. She bit her lip, unsure; her friend often had unusual ideas, and sometimes she was very wrong about them even when she said she was sure.

"Your daddy really does know Santa? He didn't make it up?"

"He really, really does," Brittany assured her. "How else would he know Santa's secret language?"

Santana had no answer for this. As Brittany hugged her again, giving her an Eskimo kiss that finally made Santana smile, she instructed her, "Just ask your mami to let you spend the night Friday, and then we'll see Santa. You'll see."

Santana still harbored doubts; seeing the presents in her parents' closet had been a devastating blow for her, and she didn't know how Brittany could really know someone who knew Santa and not tell her. But she still had a tiny piece of herself that hoped this was true, so she wiped her face one last time, watching Brittany return to the art corner to work on a new creation to place the destroyed one, and completed her time out with a new plan of action.

88

Santana almost didn't get to go to Brittany's house that weekend. Because her teacher had sent home a note to her parents after Santana's time out and tantrum, describing her destruction of the other children's work and her slapping of Rachel Berry, her abuela had spanked her and scolded her for a considerable amount of time, and had declared that she was entirely too ill-behaved to be deserving of or trusted to go to Brittany's house. However Santana had begged and pleaded with her parents once they picked her up from her abuela's after work, and eventually wore them down enough that they agreed to allow her to, as long as she got no further time outs or notes home for the rest of the week. Through extreme effort on Santana's part, she had accomplished this, and she had set off for a night at Brittany's house with considerable built-up anticipation.

Mrs. Pierce had been nice to her as always; she had made grilled cheese sandwiches cut into snowmen just like Brittany asked for, and she had let them watch Christmas movies and make cookies and lick the spoon of batter even though Santana's abuela always said it would make her sick and slap her hand if she tried to. And when the girls started to fall asleep somewhere around the beginning of their third Christmas movie, Mr. Pierce had picked them both up at once, which Santana had found super impressive, and carried them to bed, tucking them in and telling them good night.

Throughout the evening Santana had constantly whispered and nudged Brittany, reminding her that she wanted to see Santa, wasn't he going to come? And every time Brittany's answer had been that Santa could only come at night, "like Batman or vampires." By the time Mr. Pierce tucked her into bed Santana had been resigned to the possibility of Santa never coming at all, and she had curled in close to Brittany, one hand wrapped around the other girl's hair, her free hand sticking her thumb in her mouth as she drifted off to sleep.

It seemed that she had barely lay down when she was awakened by a gentle hand shaking her, an excited voice next to her ear calling her name.

"Santana! Santana, it's Santa, he's here! Hurry, he's here!"

Recognizing Brittany's voice as the one addressing her, Santana's eyes had popped open, and as tired as she was, she didn't whine and protest and bat her hands away, as she would have under ordinary circumstances. Santa Claus in Brittany's house, waiting for her, ready to see her- for real?!

She threw her blankets off and hugged Brittany excitedly, dimples popping into her cheeks as she squealed aloud.

"Where, Brittany, where?!"

"Right there- right there, Sanny, right there!" Brittany nearly squealed, pointing towards her doorway, and Santana's head swiveled, taking in the figure dressed in red velvet, detailed with white fur, standing in her doorway.

The figure certainly looked like Santa Claus. His belly was round enough, his beard was white and full enough, and the costume was certainly right. But as his eyes twinkled merrily, and he uttered a jolly greeting of "Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas, little girls!" Santana's anticipant smile faltered, then slipped entirely. For she could tell, even with his face half obscured by the beard and the hat, that this wasn't Santa Claus at all…this was Brittany's father, Mr. Pierce.

She looked to Brittany quickly, waiting to see if her friend had noticed. But Brittany was beaming, eyes glowing bright as she squeezed Santana's hand, tugging on it and wordlessly urging her to come greet the supposed Santa. She saw nothing; she never had, in all the years her father had probably done this, and knowing Brittany as Santana did, she probably never would. In Brittany's eyes, Santa Claus had come to visit her personally, and she was nothing but delighted to be so lucky.

For a moment or two Santana considered informing her of the truth, exactly as Rachel Berry had done to her. She considered throwing a tantrum, maybe even kicking Mr. Berry in the shins, bringing Brittany down to her level of cold reality and disappointment. She considered telling her that she was wrong, that if she pulled the whispers and poked the stomach, she would find an elastic beard and a pillow, that Santa Claus was and always would be a fake.

But when she looked into her friend's happy eyes, saw her innocence and joy reflected back towards her, she couldn't do it. Maybe Santana's own innocence had been damaged; maybe she couldn't ever feel the same about Christmas again. But even at five years old, Santana understood, without quite having words for it, that she couldn't do the same for Brittany; she didn't even want to. In a way, it was her gift to her, to keep Brittany happy, to let her have her joy, and she made herself smile and nod in response to her.

"Yeah…Santa Claus. Cool."

And when Brittany pulled her forward, throwing her arms around the "Santa's" legs and hugging him tight, Santana let herself be dragged, hesitantly hugging his legs too. And when Mr. Pierce patted her head, smiling down at her, and told her what a good girl she had been this year, the warmth of his voice, the affection in his touch, and the eager satisfaction in his daughter's face was almost enough to make up for the fact that he wasn't real at all. It was almost enough that when Santana closed her eyes and held tight to Brittany's hand, the moment that was so magical for the other little girl was almost so for herself as well.

end


End file.
